Search This Blog

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Spoiled???

My husband has just informed me that my previous blog post does not sound like the musings of poor married students. I think he is worried we are going to lose our financial aid, and he may be right b/c after I read it I did sound like a spoiled brat.  He pointed out that having a cleaner and weekly cooking lessons make us (well me) sound spoiled and frivolous. So, I now feel obliged to clear up a few things from my previous post.

1.) Our cleaner, Sally Ann, who we LOVE, comes twice a month and does not charge us very much. This I think makes me an exploiter of island labor not spoiled...not sure which is worse...
2.) Cooking lessons are also relatively inexpensive (again I am exploiting) and I justify this extravagance as it may be the only time in my life I'll have the time or resources to have private cooking lessons, also if I cook well, we'll stay in more often or at least that is the theory
3.) I have a job and before the Government of Grenada comes to deport me. I work for a company in the US part time and I pay US taxes. With this additional income I set aside some fun money and fun for me is cooking and a clean house.
4) I alluded to very expensive knives...we just got married and received them as wedding gifts. We have GREAT friends.
5) The expensive pan. I stole it from my mom. Sorry mom...

So you see I am hopefully not as spoiled and frivolous as I first made out, but I am actually a thieving exploiter of island resources with really nice friends who give great wedding gifts. We may have less friends after they now read about my true character. As no one actually reads this blog I am not to worried...well no one but my mom reads it and I am expecting a call wanting her pot back...

In summary I will say we have a great life are very fortunate and yes, I am spoiled b/c I live on an incredible island with my husband and get to take advantage of some amazing opportunities. We do lead a very rich life for poor students and I am grateful every day.

Professional Help

 
My favorite Little Chef

After my recent mishap in the kitchen I decided to enlist the help of a professional, and I had my first cooking lesson on Tuesday with a trained chef who just happens to be on the island because his wife is in vet school. I have to confess as much as I enjoyed it I found it very stressful. The first lesson was on hygiene, cross contamination and knife skills. As he was going over kitchen cleanliness I started having a panic attack on the inside. What if he thought we were dirty and went home and told his wife? I would be mortified.

Now we had just had Sally (we LOVE Sally, our cleaner) in on Saturday so I was fairly certain the stove, oven and fridge were clean, but what if he found some other violation? I would die of shame...and I did a few minutes later when he pointed out my plastic cutting board, held it up to the sunlight and showed me how yellow it was from bacteria. I wanted the earth to open and and swallow me whole, then he found a very expensive pan that needed to be scrubbed within an inch of its life with steel wool and my face burned with shame. I won't even begin to describe my mortification at my abysmal knife skills...my embarrassment was compounded by the fact that I have a few very nice knives and apparently had no idea how to use them.

My mortification is due in part to the fact that A) I am a people pleaser and want to do things right and B) I hate doing something I am not good at.  So, there I was a knife klutz with a bacteria infested cutting board trying not too embarrass myself while chopping an onion with my very expensive knife on my nasty cutting board. I was failing miserably.

I have to say, I hated that onion, hated it more than I have ever hated an inanimate object. It was my nemesis and making me look stupid. I couldn't believe I was losing to an onion...As much as he told me not to tense up and get nervous. I did...This onion was in my head and I was like a golfer with the yips. I just could not cut up that onion. Mercifully after fumbling my way through a few more vegetables my lesson ended.

I woke up the next day and couldn't move the right side of my body. Apparently that onion had wreaked havoc on more than my psyche....I had internalized all the tension,embarrassment and failure and knotted up my shoulder muscles so badly it took two days of yoga to undo.

Other than being a people pleaser and not enjoying looking stupid,I can also be very stubborn, determined and competitive so what did I do. Well I went out and bought every brother, sister and cousin to that onion and since Tuesday have been chopping with a vengeance. No onion is getting the better of me. Am I impressive with a knife? Well, no...but I no longer throw my back out while slicing and dicing.

This Tuesday I tackle a chicken...God help us

Disclaimer: The above is not to suggest that I did not really enjoy my lesson or learn a lot. I am actually really looking forward to tacking the chicken. It is more a reflection on my own mental issues, and perhaps on further reflection I need professional help in the kitchen and in life if I can let an onion take down my body physically and mentally. Also my cutting board has since been soaked in bleach and aforementioned pot has been scrubbed until my knuckles were raw.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Marriage Mishap

 Grenada Market
I am currently writing with lips that feel 3 times their normal size and every orifice of my body burning....My eyes, nose and even the pores on my hands are on fire. Seems I had my first married mishap in the kitchen. I decided to make chicken fajitas for dinner because they are cheap and delicious, and being the cheapo I am I refuse to pay $8 US dollars for a bell pepper in the grocery store so, I use local Grenadian seasoning peppers as a substitute.

All is going well  and I am enjoying cooking and chatting to Johno while he tells me about his day, and we're doing our normal pre-dinner ritual, which I am told will last until the first young Clark appears, and then we'll snarl at each other and fight over where to order take-out from, but at the moment we're newlyweds and there is no take-out in Grenada so we do our little ritual and behave like smug newlyweds with no kids. As we chat I am chopping away and thinking the seasoning peppers look like they are going off so I better use the whole packet. I continue cooking and chatting and as a side note this potentially could have happened as I had a few glasses of wine on the beach with "Living the dream Kathy" today (we are after all Caribbean Housewives/girlfriends in training) but I'll blame the grocery store for misrepresentation of produce instead. Can't possibly be my white wine habit (for all of you judging, it's Independence Day in Grenada, and it's the Caribbean and that's what housewives do here, for all of you not judging but jealous I recommend you move here ASAP and meet the Trini housewives for a crash course in FUN).

Married Bliss or Smug Marrieds

Anyway cut to dinner and my husband turns red and chokes and starts gasping for water. About two bites later I am doing the same. I swear steam is coming out of our ears. I then make the genius remark that the jalapeno I put in must be really strong (I have had a few glasses of wine remember) . We then really start to sweat and John is frantically bashing the bag of ice on the floor, filling the Brita and then pouring before it's even filled, and we are both downing water faster than you would think humanly possible. It's then I realize those peppers weren't seasoning peppers but scotch bonnet peppers http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scotch_bonnet_%28pepper%29  and I had cooked with no less than 7 in our fajitas.



After our mouths begin to recover our noses, eyes and every body part we've touched begin to sting. I ask my mom what to do. She says try drinking and soaking in milk, but I didn't make milk day in Grenada last week so we're out of luck til Thurdsay when the container comes back in.

Maybe I need a few more lessons in Caribbean Housewifehood as I don't think unintentionally poisoning your husband is on the syllabus, but I am only a trainee and Kathy and I do excel in wine drinking.

Suzie, I'll pass by you for cooking lessons this week!


Kathy, Me and Suzie (the trainees and the master!)

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Learner Drivers

If there is one thing in Grenada that drives me absolutely crazy it is ironically the driving on this island. However it's more specific than just the erratic rules, the breakneck speeds, the rule less round-a-bouts, and the insolent and death defying Reggae bus drivers that define the Grenada driving culture that drive me insane. What I can not abide is the 'learner driver.' I despise the learner driver. I spend 80% of my island driving time behind the learner driver, and I have developed an unusual, unhealthy all encompassing hatred of the learner driver. I would now post a photo of aforementioned learner driver performing some asinine driving move (that is illegal in every driving manual and country), but would you believe it I set out Thursday morning to capture this spectacle on film (as I am ALWAYS behind one) and I have not come across one learner driver since I've had the camera in my car. It's as if they are mocking me because they know I want to publicly ridicule them...whatever I am installing a camera to my dash in the hope it will keep these people away from me.

For those of you not familiar with the learner driver phenomenon let me enlighten you. This is the process that citizens of Grenada go through in order to obtain their driving license. The actual process, rules and regulations escape me. I am just reporting on what I have observed so, I have no idea what you actually have to do to pass or how many lessons you have to take before you can apply for your license. Judging from my observations I would guess there must be some sort of 17 point Austin Powers style turn on the test and the lessons must be at least a year as I have seen the same geniuses performing the 17 point turn for the last year.

Now I don't understand the 17 point turn and would not really let this incredibly sophisticated driving maneuver bother me if this maneuver was not performed during rush hour (well Grenada's equivalent) on probably the second busiest road in Grenada. I always and I means always am a witness to this part of the driving lesson. The learner spits and sputters and stalls through every turn of the wheel in the 17 point turn. The process ends up taking at least 12 minutes leaving the non learner driver almost murderous, because the learner manages to somehow take up the entire section of road thus, blocking traffic in both directions leaving non-learner drivers no choice but to lay on the horn and shout obscenities. This of course causes more stalling and sputtering from learner driver, and you would almost feel sorry for learner driver but as they are performing this ILLEGAL maneuver on the equivalent of Lexington Ave in New York I don't feel that sorry for them. Maybe actually who I hate is not learner driver, but learner driver instructor, for picking rush hour and a busy road in Grenada to teach this irrelevant and utterly stupid move.

I also can not wrap my brain around the reversing on the wrong side of the road move that is an integral part of every lesson. I swear to you this is actually taught and if you are a runner in my neighborhood you live in constant fear of this move. Learner driver moves to the right side of the road (we drive on the left here) and begins to reverse for about a 1/4 of a mile. This is strange as I am not sure why you would ever reverse on a main road, but really don't understand why you would reverse into oncoming traffic. Again I question learner driver instructor and am thinking I need to switch my disdain from learner driver to the instructor. As learner driver is not very adept at reversing, they tend to weave all over the show, runners have to be on their toes so they don't get hit. If you were hit by a learner driver chances are you wouldn't be hurt, as they travel no faster than 3 miles an hour, there is one exception to this. When reversing into oncoming traffic they go considerably faster.

The speed of the learner driver is truly something to behold, but what's even more astonishing is how learner driver goes from driving no faster than 3 mph to getting their license and never driving below 90 mph. How they make the transition from learner to typical maniac Grenada driver I do not know, but no one in Grenada with the exception of the learner driver drives less than 90 mph and the Reggae bus drivers go even faster. I am confused by this as no one does anything quickly in Grenada except drive. So while maniac Grenada driver will almost kill you to get to the grocery store ahead of you; they will then walk so slowly into the grocery store you'll be done shopping and on your way home by the time they enter the grocery store.

For those of you  wondering how to spot the learner driver (as they are alluding me and so I can't provide photographic evidence of their existence) whenever you come across a small hatch-back car with a large "L" hanging from its backside and a line of cars honking and hand gesturing you've found one.

I know I should be more tolerant and I should feel sorry the learner driver is subjected to such abysmal learning conditions, but everyone has a vice and it appears mine is immense dislike of the learner driver. Well it's one vice among many but that is for another posting...So I remain unapologetic for my disgust for the learner driver.

I do have a show idea for Top Gear. I think they should have to drive around Grenada with a learner driver. Now that would make for good TV.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Missing Mom

Living on an island often gives way to a condition commonly know as island fever in which one feels like if they don't get off this rock within 24 hours they are going to go absolutely stark raving mad. I had island fever quite badly last November/December, but a trip to Africa and back to the bush thankfully cured me, and I'm back to enjoying this little slice of heaven. However yesterday I was suffering from another condition. I miss my mom. I miss my mom everyday but for some reason yesterday I was really missing her maybe it was the type of day I had that made me miss her. It wasn't a bad day and wasn't one of those days that everything goes so wrong only your momma can make it better, I had a great day, but I missed my mom.



Living on this beautiful island really has spoiled me for life. For example take my day yesterday. I woke up early and had coffee, which my husband made (very spoiled), and looked out my front window at the sailboats bobbing in prickly bay while growling at my husband, who good naturedly puts up with my morning alter ego (grumpiest woman alive before 9 am) , then I went for a run around our neighborhood which boasts ocean views around just about every corner, and if you can actually look up from the road while you are dying going around the HUGE hills it also boasts, you can see a stunning views of the Ocean. I usually am dying as I shuffle around so I mostly get a view of my tennis shoes. From there I headed to yoga which is thankfully at 9 am so I can converse like a normal person with all the other yogi wannabees. Somehow don't think growling would be acceptable by the Buddha.


Yesterday I did Kundalini Yoga which I am new too, and at first freaked me out a little as you chant a LOT and I thought it was useless because it didn't seem that hard at first. I belong to the school of workout that if you aren't sweating you're not working, but I am on a quest to become more imteresting in 2010 so I figured I would try it and stick with it for a few sessions. Not only is it challenging physically and mentally you do this crazy thing called 'breath of fire' that after a few weeks is supposed to give you more energy, clarity and focus. I won't do the explanation justice so to read more about it check out this site http://www.kundaliniyoga.org/pranayam.html .  In order to do breath of fire you pant through your nose 'like a dog' it's weird and a little freaky, but the amazing thing is it works. What I've neglected to mention is I do breath of fire here www.lalulna.com looking at this view...you could ask me to stand on my head and hum Lady Gaga's 'Poker Face' and I would probably find it relaxing.


Anyway after 'panting like a dog' for an hour I suddenly really missed my mom. Maybe it was that she enjoyed doing yoga at Laluna or that 8 months earlier we were at Laluna getting ready for the wedding or maybe it was because I pass by BBC beach on my home, a place that we spent countless hours reading, collecting shells and giggling last May, that I missed her so much at that moment.  But I think its more likely that I could imagine the hysterics we would be in after panting like a dog for an hour, and I miss laughing with my mom.

One thing my mom has taught me is that you shake things off so I didn't get mired down in homesickness I came home got to work, chatted with my friend Sarah on skype, I love skype....and then waited for Johno to come home. He had a 4:00 tennis date so I decided I had enough of work (I love part time work) and headed to Grand Anse to beach comb for seaglass, an activity that I did alot with my mom when she was here.


One of the more amusing yet defintely irritating things about the Caribbean is if you are a female alone on the beach the harrassment you receive is monumental. So while beach combing, missing my mom and generally minding my own business I had this encounter:

Random guy who from the corner of my eye looks to be about 18 but can't be sure because he is behind me and I don't want to make eye contact:  

"pstt...hey beauty (i ignore) psst...hey, hey, beautiful. (i keep ignoring) psst..psst (this is the mating sound of Grenadian men, it must work as they all do it, but god help the woman who falls for pssst) hey, hey beauty, beauty what is your name?

I keep walking and ignoring the psst's. Mr. psst is still behind me. We haven't actually made eye contact yet, but here I make a rookie mistake. I keep walking with my eyes forward and don't slow down, but stupidly finally tell this rando my name. I then, and I promise you this is true, get an amazing proposition: "hey beauty take me back to your hotel room"

It crosses my mind to tell him that where I come from this proposition is usually preceded by eye contact and the offer to buy the woman a drink first...Howevere I don't do this and I resist the other thing I would like to tell him which is to "f'off" and I keep walking. From here I assume the tunnel vision posture as if I am three years old "if I don't look at you, you can't see me" He finally pisses off...some other beauty passed him and he presumably goes off to try his hotel room line on another woman. I wonder if this actually works...John reckons it must.

Anyway this encounter also reminds me of my mom. We were walking on the beach in Carricou and after we passed a group of about 5 surly looking pot smoking rum swigging youths (this behavior is entirely acceptable on the beaches of Grenada) who were giving us the obligatory psst's that Grenadian men must be programmed to utter when a white woman walks by. We kept ignoring their pssts. What happened next was amazing...  We ignored them until one said surly looking youth launched his flip flop into the air where it landed a few feet in front of us. This was a mating ritual neither of us had encountered before...Now the logic behind this is baffling to me. You just threw your SHOE at me, in Iraq this is highly insulting (shades of George Bush) do you really think I will now come and chat you up? Let me just pause to give any man who may be under the misguided allusion that throwing a stinky shoe at a woman is an acceptable form of courting. It is not. My mom and I just looked at each other stepped over the shoe as if it was a dead fish and walked to the nearest bar had a vodka ting and howled with laughter.


I miss my mom, I miss her everyday. I miss her smile and her laugh.

 
 

Monday, February 1, 2010

Mandela my new Hero

Just this morning I finished the book Playing the Enemy by John Carlin. If you are looking for an inspirational read it is currently at the top of my list. The book is the story of Nelson Mandela and his role in the Springbok World Cup win of 1995, and is the basis for the recently released movie Invicticus with Morgan Freeman and Matt Damon. I saw the movie before I read the book and the movie truly is fantastic, but I wanted a better understanding of how Mandela became Mandela. How did someone who was so mistreated and imprisoned for 27 years become so full of forgiveness and love? It would have been so easy for him to be a brutal vengeful leader making the white's atone for their sins against black South Africa (think Robert Mugabe).  Instead of emerging from 27 years of prison bitter and  hell bent on revenge Mandela came out and forgave, and not only did he forgive he included and befriended the very people who hated him most in his vision for a New South Africa. Mandela's ability to not only forgive but to also then embrace those who had mistreated him really is a testament to the power of the human spirit. It is amazing what we as humans can achieve if we really put our minds too it. If Mandela can forgive and emanate love in order to build a nation. I think I can get up and run those 3 miles, or volunteer my time, or go for the goal I am secretly afraid I may fail at.

His story is an inspiration and makes me feel like I need to get my act together and do more with my life. It seems like a sin to sit stationary when Mandela was confined for 27 years to a 5 square meter cell and managed to remain active and engaged in making the world a better place through love and from all accounts lots of laughter. I am free and have every opportunity to make a contribution if only I would get the courage to do it. While Mandela had a long term plan and always believed that he would be free he took things one day at a time and focused on maintaining his dignity and his spirit day by day.

My plan is to take one day at a time and try to do a little bit more each day. Whether it be to run the extra mile so my mind and body are sharp and in shape, or donate my time to something outside of myself or tell my husband I love him one more time each day I hope to get the momentum of love and laughter building in my life so I can achieve something special and worthwhile. When we were dating my husband sent me this quote and it remains one of my favorites...it is also one of Mandela's favorites.
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
 
John and I in our favorite place on earth, the Luangwa Valley in Zambia. This was taken shortly after he sent me this quote and right before we left to embark on the next phase in our life. Ultimate goal is to get back to give back to the place that for me is "the greatest place on earth." Sorry Disney World for stealing your motto.